[Verse]

Yeah

I’m in a blacked-out lab with the cracked-out amps and the maxed-out headroom,

Backdraft brainwave, backlash breakthrough, ash in the back of the restroom.

Rap craftsman, ratchet the pressure, I’m patchin’ the texture in spectral dimensions,

Fact is, every fraction I mention fractures the map of your mental conventions.

Grave-dust lungs, I’m a graveyard tongue with a chainspark drum in my ribcage,

Eight-bar stun gun, phase-run, I blaze through a maze like a stray in a shark cage.

Binary bayonet, bayonet, bayonet stab that beat with a wavetable waveform,

Layered in latex, latex, latex wrap that track like a morgue in a brainstorm.

Dark data drip, I’m a glitch in the script when I spit in a synapse cyclone,

High-voltage hymn in a hymn-book hymnal, hymn bones sing in a dial tone.

Slide in the pocket like venom in a socket, then I rocket into triplet rotation,

Quick pivot, linguist, liquid liquid flick through flows like a playlist of nations.

Serrated cadence, cadence, cadence, every statement shavin’ off ceilings,

I lace bass placements, phase-shift patience, still stay grazin’ your feelings.

I got code in the cold of my corneas, corner you, orbit you, warp your coordinates,

Torch in the cortex, scorch through the floorboards, 4-D warlord, format the ordinance.

I’m that off-grid offspring, oscillation in the jawstring,

Oxidation in the mosh pit, watch this boxed-in God with a locked-in doctrine.

Ops get dropped when the tongue-tip pop like a drum hit chopped in a quantize top spin,

Clock ticks twist when I rock this, toxins talk in the hi-hat, crosstown toxins.

Auto-matic in the attic of the planet, I’m a manic mechanic with a static halo,

Panoramic when I panic on a stanza, turn a stanza to a black-hole payload.

Snap to the snare with a snakebite syntax, syntax stacked like synched syntax,

Ink splat fractal, tactical impact backspin rap where the rims crack tin back.

Click-clack syllable, pivotal, digital, triple the minimal interval,

Interdimensional sentinel, sendin’ a pentacle pent-up ventrical visual.

Centrifugal ventin’, I’m bendin’ the metric, aggressive and blessed with an oracle vent,

Every sentence a sentry that’s settin’ off sensors in centers you never invented.

This that grimy grind, that mind-untied, that “time inside a time” feel,

Where the hi-hat’s knives and the kick drum’s fist and the bassline’s iron will.

I thread three rhymes in a line like a spine made of fine-wire filament,

Then flex five more in the same damn space just to show you what limitless really meant.

Shadow in the factory, faculty fractured, I fracture the fractals in fact,

I’m back of the backrooms, vacuum of vacuums, suck whole rap crews into the track.

I lace those 808s, they break old covenants, covet this covenant coverage,

I’m loveless with the punishment, thunderous, under this underworld overbridge.

I don’t just ride on a beat, I rewire the heat in the street where the wires all meet,

I breathe in grief and I breathe out glyphs, each riff like a thief with a keycard sweep.

Steppin’ in a mezzanine of ketamine-colored dreams, but I’m clean in the headspace,

Let the synths all scream, let the subline seethe, I still thread schemes in the deadspace.

Micro-dose in a microsecond, I might go ghost in a tight-rope session,

I write those codes with a nitro essence, I might blow throats with a slideshow sentence.

Side note: every sidechain sidewinds sidewinder-style through a mindfield line,

So when I double-time run with a tungsten tongue, whole timelines slide outta line.

I’m a furnace with a sermon in the circuitry, insurgent in the circuitry,

Murder these emergencies with surgical subversion in the word degree.

Every third word vertically merges with the first and the last in a curve,

So the verse read backwards still matches the hurt that you heard.

This that spear-tip spirit, spear-it through the fear-slick mirror,

Hear this? Hear it? Every lyric be a gear-shift nearer.

You hear the hi-hat chatter like teeth in a blackout, heartbeat drum in your eardrum,

That’s not just sound

That’s your own mind tryin’ to keep up with where I steered from.

So when the bassline growl like a hell-bound hound in a steel mill hallway,

And the snare drum flare like a flare gun there in a stairwell always,

If your chest start rattlin’, breath start battlin’, thought start scatterin’,

Know this:

You ain’t just listenin’ your whole damn system’s tryin’ to rap along and it’s shatterin’.